Vocational Pursuits
by Keara
Summary: A Drabble-ish bit of fun.  Mulder comes home to find a visitor waiting in his apartment.  Rated T, well, just because it IS Jack.
1. Vocational Pursuits

_Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood or The X-Files, or any character of either franchise. I am only borrowing them for entertainment purposes and I will return them in moderately good condition._

_Notes: This is nothing. Random bit of fun. An idea spawned by boredom and hours upon hours of watching the X-Files with my co-conspirator, Tenshi-Chan. I may write more, and I do have some ideas, but it won't happen until other fiction gets finished first._

_Further Notes: This story is set pre-series for both shows. Jack is still a freelance agent with Torchwood and at the moment Mulder is working alone on the X-Files._

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><p><strong><em>Vocational Pursuits<em>**

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><p>It had been a long day and all Fox Mulder wanted was to collapse onto his couch and allow his mind to melt away by watching hours of late-night television until he could finally, hopefully, get some sleep. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys, then paused as his eyes caught sight of his door. It was open, just a crack, but open nonetheless and there was light spilling from underneath the door.<p>

Someone had been, or was, in his apartment.

Being as quiet as possible, he drew his gun. Taking a breath, he tried to ready himself for a potentially violent encounter. If there was someone in his apartment, it wasn't likely that they were just there to chat. Of course, there may not be anyone in there at all. Could be burglars. Not that there was much to steal in Mulder's home.

He kicked the door open and scanned around the dining room with gun and eyes. He stepped inside cautiously, always looking where his weapon was aimed, keeping his ears attuned to every sound.

There was no sign of anyone in the dining room. He moved across to the main room and trained his gun on the figure he found there. He was a rather attractive man in his early to mid thirties, wearing what looked like World War II era clothing. The stranger had dark hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to be assessing Mulder. Despite being an intruder and Mulder aiming a loaded weapon at him, the stranger seemed to be fully at home with his feet up on Mulder's coffee table sipping at a glass of water.

Mulder was far from impressed. "Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?" he demanded.

The stranger put his glass down. He leaned back again and flashed a dazzling smile. "Special Agent Fox Mulder. Although you prefer to go by your last name, as you find your first distasteful." He quirked a flirty smile at him, and ran his eyes up and down Mulder in a less than innocent way. "Pity, too, since your name suits you so well."

Mulder scoffed. "Okay. I'll ask again. Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?"

The stranger continued as if Mulder had never spoken. "You are an Oxford graduate with a Bachelor of Arts Degree. Attended the FBI Academy in Quantico and graduated with honors. Quite a career, you had too. The best analyst in the violent crimes section from what I heard. Until, of course, you got to working on the X-Files. Now you're either ignored in a drafty little basement office, or ridiculed behind your back. Probably both, actually. I bet they even have a nickname for you. There's always a nickname."

'Spooky,' Mulder's mind supplied, but didn't voice it. Instead he warned, "I'm not going to ask again."

Giving him yet another flirtatious smile, the man stood with what could only be described as a dramatic flourish. Mulder took a step back, keeping his eyes and weapon on the man. Hands raised passively, the man merely smiled at him. "My name isn't important. Your work is, though. You've gained the attention of the people I work for."

"And who is that?"

"Why don't you put the gun away and we can discuss it? You can frisk me if you want." This was said with a waggle of dark eyebrows.

"Keep your hands up and turn around," Mulder ordered.

When the man complied, Mulder checked him for weapons. He didn't come up empty-handed. He pulled an old revolver from the holster at the stranger's side. However, he didn't find any means of identification, not even a wallet.

Mulder took a few steps back, keeping a safe distance between himself and his burglar. "Sit on your hands and start talking." While the stranger did so, Mulder dumped the bullets out of the revolver and tossed the empty weapon on the coffee table.

The man gave him a look. "Wouldn't you rather be working someplace where your word will hold weight, Agent Mulder? Someplace where people will take you seriously and not mock you behind your back?" He leaned back into the couch cushions, smiling charmingly. "I represent a company that could give you that."

"Who?" Mulder asked. He remained standing, keeping a watchful eye over his intruder, but did slip his gun into his holster.

"Oh, no one you've ever heard of. They're physically based overseas, but have far-reaching influences. Working for them, you'd have the authority to find out anything you want. Police, Government agencies, nothing can stand in your way. That elusive 'Truth' you've been seeking for so long is in your grasp. All you have to do is reach out and take it."

Mulder wasn't fool enough to so readily believe a complete and utter stranger. This could easily be a trick to get him to stop working on the X-Files. Get him to quit the FBI and stop investigating, to keep him from finding the truth about his sister, about everything.

"You're lying."

To Mulder's consternation, the man only smiled at him. "What will it take to convince you?" He didn't pause for an answer. "Just think about it. You'd have more resources available to you than you could ever hope to gain working for the FBI. You'd have a nice office with a view instead of being hidden away in the basement like you were some dirty little secret. Or, hey, you could work freelance, like me. Keep your own hours, do jobs only when you want to."

Mulder wasn't so easily swayed. "Sounds to me like you're just trying to keep me from arresting you and locking you away for breaking and entering, trespassing and burglary."

The man seemed amused by Mulder's words. "I'd never see a jail cell, my friend. I'd be gone long before they opened the ink to get my fingerprints." He stood up smoothly, seemingly not threatened as Mulder hastily drew his weapon to cover him. "I'll just be going, now." He held his hand out expectantly. "It's old, but I've become rather fond of my gun. I'd like it back before I leave, please. You can keep the bullets if you want."

Mulder hesitated.

"Listen, I came here to offer you a place, not threaten you in any way. And that's all I've done." He happily accepted the unloaded revolver when it was returned to him. "It isn't my fault you work such ungodly hours. I've been here all afternoon."

Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So, as a result, you decided to pick my lock and waltz into my home and make yourself comfortable?" He kept his gun in his hand, just to be on the safe side.

The man shrugged. "If I wanted to do that, there would have been far less clothing involved." With a smirk, he ran his eyes up and down Mulder, in an appraising manner. "Let me give you my card. If you change your mind, you can give me a call." He gave Mulder a wink. "Hey, you can call me if you just wanna talk. You've got one hell of a sexy voice."

Mulder glanced at the card for a split second. There was only a number typed onto the plain white surface. No name, no decoration, only a phone number. He looked up, but the stranger wasn't there. Spinning, he found the man heading for the door.

"Hey, I didn't get a name!" Mulder shouted.

The stranger stood framed in the open doorway, smiling widely. "Call me Jack," he said, then was gone.

Mulder didn't know what to think of this. The entire encounter was baffling. Who was that man? And what company had he been representing? With a roll of his eyes, Mulder opened a drawer in his desk and tossed the card in, deciding to put the matter out of mind. Only the niggling thought in the back of his mind kept him from tossing it out altogether.

Within a week, the entire incident was forgotten and Mulder was meeting with a new partner, some red-headed woman by the name of Dana Scully. 

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><p><em>The End<em>


	2. Anamnesis

_Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood or The X-Files, or any character of either franchise. I am only borrowing them for entertainment purposes and I will return them in moderately good condition._

_Notes: Still set pre-Season One in Torchwood. Set during Season One of the X-Files, directly following 'Deep Throat.'_

_Warnings: This story contains spoilers for 'Deep Throat.'_

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><p><strong><em>Anamnesis<em>**

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><p>"They're here aren't they?" Mulder had asked, calling out to the man who had warned him away from this case in the first place; this case that had led to nowhere. A week ago he and Scully had gone to investigate a missing test pilot and he had nothing to show for it but a blurry photograph of a UFO.<p>

He wanted answers, needed answers.

"Mr. Mulder, they've been here for a long, long time," was the only answer he received before he was left alone on the racetrack. It wasn't near enough to satisfy his curiosity.

As soon as the mysterious man was out of sight, Mulder began to run again. Running was easy, simple. All you had to do was keep moving, keep breathing. You didn't need to think. All you had to do was keep your legs going, to follow the lines of the track.

Mulder loved running. It was a simple way to wind down when he was feeling too wired to sleep. It calmed him when he needed calming. It wasn't doing much good now though. Now, he couldn't stop his mind from chasing the elusive clues that would lead him nowhere.

The Budahas case was closed. There was no investigation anymore. That alone galled him. But worse than all of that, was the fact that his own memories had been stolen from him. Even a week later he still couldn't remember how he had gotten to Ellens Air Base, not to mention anything he had done or seen while there. All he could remember was being driven out to the gate, passing that man who had claimed earlier to be a reporter, and then climbing into the car with Scully. Trying to think of anything else, to remember even one detail, gave him a headache.

So he ran, following the track until his lungs burned and his legs felt like jelly. He slowed to a stop and leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees as he panted heavily.

"Can't say I'm not loving the view!" came an overly cheerful voice.

Mulder stood up abruptly and spun, hand automatically reaching for a gun that wasn't on his hip. He stared at the man in front of him in sheer disbelief. Just how many mysterious visitors would he be forced to endure today?

Standing at the edge of the track, looking impossibly nonchalant - even in his out-of-date clothing - was someone Mulder hadn't laid eyes on since before he'd been partnered with Scully. To be honest, he'd thought that he'd never see the man again.

"Jack, isn't it?" Mulder said by way of a greeting. He didn't like that this man had so easily sneaked up on him, especially since he stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.

"You've remembered me," the man grinned widely. "I'm flattered."

Mulder flinched, the words stinging like a barb. Had it been an intentional insult, a reference to his recent bout of memory loss? Deciding he didn't care one way or the other, Mulder turned to leave.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Mulder spun and slapped the other man's hand off of him. Jack raised his hands into the air, a contrite expression on his face. "A poor choice of words on my part. I didn't mean anything by it."

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Mulder stepped a few paces back. He wanted to keep a distance between them. He didn't trust this man in the least. "What do you want?" he asked.

The casual smile was back on Jack's face. "Is that any way to greet a concerned friend?"

"Is that what you are?"

"I'm hurt, Agent Mulder," Jack replied, placing a hand over his heart and pouting just a little. "I come all the way across the ocean just to see how you're doing and this is the gratitude I get?"

Mulder's mind latched onto only one fact. "Across the ocean?" he asked. He remembered Jack mentioning before that the company he worked for was based overseas, but he hadn't been able to question it then. Their meeting had been so brief. Now maybe he could get some answers. He wouldn't hold his breath over it though. He had the feeling that Jack was well practiced in keeping secrets, especially his own.

Jack only smiled at him in an enigmatic way. A simple shift had that expression turning into one of concern. "I heard you ran into a little trouble on your last case. How are you, Mulder?"

"How am I?" Mulder snapped back. He turned abruptly and took a couple steps away, then swiftly turned back again, frustration bubbling up inside of him.

Like air escaping a punctured balloon, the anger simply seeped away. Mulder was tired now, utterly drained. He ran a surprisingly shaky hand through his hair, expelling a breath. He didn't know what to do anymore. He dropped to the ground and pulled his knees in close. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands, fingers clenching into his hair.

"Just leave me alone," Mulder croaked.

There was a rustle of fabric and the press of warmth against his side. He didn't look, but he knew that Jack was sitting beside him now. An arm drew over his back, hand pressing lightly to his shoulder. "I know how you feel," Jack said, his voice astonishingly soft.

Mulder jerked his face from his palms, looking at Jack with incredulity. "I had my memories stolen from me," he bit out. "How can you possibly know how I feel?"

There was something in Jack's eyes, a shadowed flicker of pain and hurt. In that moment, Mulder had no doubt that Jack understood perfectly well. What was Jack involved in? Who did he work for? Mulder wasn't entirely sure that he wanted the answers to those questions.

"Two years," Jack said, breaking eye contact and looking out across the track. He draped his one arm over his own knees in a casual manner, his other still curled around Mulder. "I used to work for this agency. It's not important who they are. One day I woke up and I'm missing two years of my life. All the memories gone, erased, by my employers. It's been a long time since then and I still don't know what they took, what I did during that time, or why it was taken away from me. For all I know, I could have hurt people." He turned to face Mulder then, his expression serious. "They took one day from you. Imagine losing seven hundred and twenty-nine more."

Mulder dropped his gaze, letting out a breath. He couldn't imagine losing so much time, so many memories; bad enough the day he couldn't remember. "Sorry," he mumbled, putting his forehead to his knees.

Jack patted him on the back. "Just wanted to give you a little perspective," he said.

Mulder looked up at him. One day didn't seem like much when compared to two years. "It's just ... that I can't remember."

"I know how you feel."

Mulder believed him this time. He nodded, having nothing else to say.

Jack pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his coat. He looked back at Mulder, smiling again. "Don't let this one setback detract you from your goals, Agent Mulder. You have a lot of potential." He held out his hand.

Mulder chuckled then. He accepted the help to his feet. "Still trying to recruit me, Jack?"

"I never give up." His smile turned flirtatious while his eyes raked up and down Mulder's body. "Especially when I see something I want."

Mulder drew away, shaking his head. He was more amused with the flirting than offended. "I'm happy where I am."

Jack shrugged. "I hear you've got yourself a partner. A pretty redhead by all accounts. No wonder you're so set on staying. I would too with perks like that."

"Scully would probably shoot you if you called her a perk."

Jack's grin widened. "Oh, feisty. I like a challenge. And you, my dear Fox, are the best challenge I've come across in quite awhile. I'll wear you down eventually."

"I'm sure you'll try." Mulder turned to head in the opposite direction.

He was stopped by Jack's boisterous voice announcing, "I really do love that look." Mulder looked back just in time to catch the sly wink before Jack turned and left.

An enigma, that's what Jack was. As the man disappeared from sight, Mulder realized that he still didn't know anything else about the man, or the company he represented. 

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><p><strong><em>The End<em>**

_(I'll write more when I think of it)_

_Author's Note: Origin of the title. Anamnesis is a noun. Meaning: the recollection or remembrance of the past; reminiscence._


End file.
